And I try, oh my God do I try, I try all the time… ~ Four Non Blondes
One goose barrels in
five seconds ahead of the flock
and then a second
in a messy formation
as they change leads.
They don’t even pause
here today, an overfly.
A full minute passes
before three part the air
for a pursuing vee.
Another minute until twenty
more fly these friendly skies.
Their guide’s blurb — over your
north wing observe the green shores
see the pleasant island-birthplace
of you, right? Squawks of agreement
as they pass. They all seem aimed
at the exact spot further north
called as if by a beacon,
obeying the connected field.
And suddenly this one is solo southbound
a survivor fleeing disaster.
These giant Canadian geese don’t
migrate, so perhaps a farmer
up the road has exposed a stubble
of corn. They all received the memo,
this lone crier sent back
to confirm the feast.
But an hour goes by
and the skies remain clear;
my anthropomorphism as usual
blinding me to what is
as I seize the tease
of potential story.